Careful Hands
by scarlet79
Summary: Collection of one-shots telling of all the "careful hands" that touch John Sheppard. Now on Chapter 9!
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Okay, new story! Actually, I think it's gonna be a collection of one-shots, all about those who care for John Sheppard in different ways. And this means, of course, that there's probably gonna be a lot of ShepWhump involved. Shucks, right? LOL Anywho, first Chapter's Teyla._

_Enjoy!_

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><p><strong><em>Careful Hands<em>**

**1**

**Teyla**

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><p>His body ached, and his head felt as if it would explode. Laying in bed way past the time he should have risen, Sheppard rolled over onto his back and tried to crack his eyes open yet again. The sunlight that shone through his window was bright, however, so he quickly shut them again and groaned. The noise he made scratched his throat, and he added that to his growing list of complaints. Sheppard burrowed deeper into his covers, but then threw them off a moment later, too hot to be covered by such thick blankets. Another minute passed with him lying there, sweat slicking his forehead and sticking his t-shirt and boxers to his skin, and then suddenly he was shivering again, his hands grasping for the comforter.<p>

Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, the door chimed, and he uttered another soft groan. Sniffling, he rolled over and tried to wish the visitor away, but he realized that it was useless when the door quietly swished open and then shut. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the soft footfalls that reached his ears. There were only a few people in the city who walked that way, and he knew there were even fewer of those who would actually chance becoming infected by his illness by coming to see him.

There was a soft exhale as his visitor carefully sat down on the bed beside him, and the slender hand of a woman gently brushed across his forehead. Sheppard cracked open his right eyelid, and found himself staring at Teyla's familiar brown eyes. She was concerned; that much he could tell just by looking at her.

"Hello, John," she murmured, placing the few items she had been carrying onto his dresser.

"Hi," he whispered back, even then wincing at the sharp pain he felt in his throat.

"Samantha informed me that you were not well, and I thought I should come and check on you."

"Shouldn't be in here," he warned her. "You could catch what I got."

"I will be fine," she assured him, smiling softly. "I have brought a few things I thought might help you."

Sheppard simply nodded, too weary to speak any longer. He figured that she had already spoken to Keller about him, and being the women they were, had discussed his illness in great detail. Normally, the lack of privacy would bother him, but right now he was so tired that he only wanted to sleep for as long as he could. Problem was, his sinuses were so swollen and stuffy that he felt like he was suffocating every time he drifted off.

The next time his eyes fluttered open, Teyla was reaching for a small glass bottle. She saw him staring and gave him a small grin. "This will help you breathe easier," she explained as she leaned forward and carefully removed his shirt, then tossed it into the hamper nearby, as it was fairly soaked with sweat. She settled his comforter over his hips, then opened the bottle and poured a small amount of the liquid into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it a little first.

Just before she lowered her hands to his chest, she lifted an eyebrow at him and said, "Breathe in as slowly and deeply as you can, all right?"

Sheppard nodded, willing at that moment to do anything she told him to, if only it would make him feel better. Starting first at his shoulders and neck and working her way down his chest, Teyla stroked her hands across his flushed skin until she reached the waist of his boxers, then went back up to his throat, where her fingertips worked the fragrant liquid in small circles.

A few minutes into her ministrations, Sheppard realized that he could smell whatever it was she was massaging into him. It was vaguely medicinal, reminding him of the infirmary's disinfectant, but there was a slightly nutty scent that followed it. He puzzled over where he'd smelled that before as Teyla stroked his collarbone, humming in satisfaction as she calmed his tense muscles, feeling them release like unwound springs. He was still getting fever and chills, but she seemed to know just where he needed the extra warmth of her hands at any given moment, and he found himself drifting somewhere toward slumber. Just before he dropped off completely, he felt Teyla's hands gently rolling him over onto his stomach, and he helped her by doing it himself.

"Put your arms down at your sides," she instructed him, and he again followed her orders. He felt her weight lift from the bed for a moment, and if he had had the strength, he would have picked his head up to find out where she had gone. Then, he was aware of a weight on his upper thighs, and he realized that she had climbed up onto the bed and was now straddling his legs. _Probably to get a better angle_, he guessed just before her hands descended onto his warm back, smoothing more of her medicine into his skin.

As she worked, Sheppard uttered a deep sigh, finally feeling one side of his nose free up. He sniffed as hard as he could, then choked and gagged as his sinuses suddenly emptied into his throat. Teyla scrambled off of him at once, then grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the floor and pressed them into his hand. He coughed the offending substance into the tissues, grimacing as he tossed them into the wastebasket, and then lay back down on his pillow.

When she was sure that he was not drowning in his own mucus, Teyla cautiously climbed back up onto the bed and resumed rubbing her medicinal oil into Sheppard's back. She could already feel his muscles loosening, their rock-hard fibers slowly giving way to the smooth texture that healthy flesh bore within it. He was breathing easier as well, even with her added weight upon him, and his temperature had even fallen a degree or two.

A half hour later, she was finished, and she slipped off of his back and sat beside him, her left leg curled underneath her. She was about to ask him how he felt when she heard a light snore come from him, and she smiled.

He would be well again soon, but for now, she would sit by him. Careful hands wiped the lingering sweat from his brow, then pulled the covers over his shoulders.

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><p><em>Chapter 2 coming up...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**_Careful Hands_**

**2**

**Rodney**

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><p>"John? Colonel, can you hear me?"<p>

Sheppard blinked, as a pair of hands carefully cradled his head. Rodney McKay was leaning over him, his blue eyes intense as he gazed down.

"Yeah," Sheppard finally managed, his voice little more than a croak, and he gave a short cough and tried again. "Yeah, I think so."

"Are you sure, 'cause you cracked your head pretty good back there."

He winced at the pounding behind his eyes, but nodded. "I'm sure, Rodney," he replied, trying to sound as annoyed as possible. "Just...help me up, will 'ya?"

"Sure," McKay said, his hands already shifting from behind Sheppard's head to his shoulders as he levered the colonel into a sitting position. "Good news is, we took out every Wraith on the planet."

Sheppard heaved in a sigh as he sat up. "What's the bad news?"

McKay made a strange noise and crossed his arms. "What makes you think there's bad news?"

"Because I know you," Sheppard said, throwing a chuckle on the end just to keep his friend from bursting a blood vessel.

McKay just stared at him, but Sheppard couldn't tell if it was because of the laugh or not. Then, the scientist reached into his tac vest and pulled out a bandage. Sheppard tried to take it, but McKay shook his head and moved it out of his reach.

"Just sit still," McKay said, his voice surprisingly gentle. Likewise, his fingers were careful as he dabbed at the knot on Sheppard's head, wiping away the blood that flowed sluggishly down the side of his face.

"McKay, what's the bad news?" Sheppard asked again, and his friend huffed, pausing in the middle of taping down the bandage.

"We lost communication with Lorne's team."

Sheppard's heart jumped into his throat, and he pushed Rodney's hands away, trying to stand up. "What? How long ago?" He asked.

"Sheppard..."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Sheppard, stop moving!" McKay shouted then, his hands firm on Sheppard's shoulders as he pushed him back onto the ground. "You might have a concussion. You can't just go running around after a blast like that."

"I need to find Lorne..." Sheppard insisted, but McKay was stronger than he remembered. Either that, or he really was more injured than he thought.

"No. You need to stay here. It's getting dark, and since they have the Jumper, they're in a better position for a rescue than we are. They'll have to come looking for us before night falls. Our best bet is to stay put, light a fire, and wait."

Sheppard scowled at him for a while, but then finally sighed and gave up. "Fine. I'll go look for firewood, then."

"Fine," Rodney conceded.

Sheppard slowly pushed himself to his feet and managed to take three steps before dizziness washed over him, and he started to collapse. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel himself hit the ground, but it never came. Instead, Rodney's arms were wrapped around him, holding him up. Intensely horrified that he had nearly passed out again, Sheppard managed to get his feet under him again, and Rodney helped him sit back down on the ground, his back resting against a fallen log.

Rather than the smug I-told-you-so he had been expecting, Rodney simply said, "I'll go," and immediately started off through the surrounding field, his eyes searching the ground at his feet for sticks and branches. Sheppard sat watching him for a while, but when his head began to pound harder he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. Birds sang high up in the trees, enjoying the sunset before them as if it were the last one they would ever see. The river was somewhere nearby; he could hear water rushing over rocks, then trickling down into small pools below. Off in the distance, a dog howled, probably from one of the villages on the other side of the hills. A moment later, another dog howled in reply, and Sheppard smiled as he recalled the way his hound used to sit in the backyard and howl at the moon, just as these two were now.

A twig snapped close to where he sat and Sheppard instantly sat up, his eyes opening at the same time. It was dark all around him now, and Rodney had yet to return. Where had he gone? Was he all right?

When another twig broke, even closer than before, Sheppard's hand reached instinctively for his sidearm. Finding nothing, he growled as he recalled that he'd lost it right before their little "bomb" had gone off. Though the air was cool, he felt sweat stand out on his forehead, and he forced himself to stay quiet in case the noise he'd heard was not Rodney returning. His hands searched the grass around him for a weapon – a stick, a rock, anything he could use to defend himself with – and came up with a thick branch covered with slimy moss. Oh well, it was better than nothing, he told himself. Grasping the branch like it was a baseball bat, he wound up and waited for another sound.

What reached his ears then was not the sound he had wanted to hear.

A low growl, gutteral and hungry-sounding, came from somewhere to his left. Keeping his breathing slow and even, his head turned an inch at a time until he was staring at a pair of glowing amber eyes. A huge, wolf-like creature was crouched nearby, its nose low to the ground as it sniffed at a few drops of blood that had fallen there when Sheppard had been injured.

"Oh, crap," Sheppard muttered softly. Then, his eyes still locked on the creature, he pushed himself up some more and tried to look bigger and more intimidating than he knew he was.

The canine's back end suddenly lowered to the ground, all its bulging muscles tensed and locked, ready to leap forward. Sheppard closed his eyes, knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent the attack from happening. A heavy weight landed on his chest, and heat seared through his shoulders as the creature's claws dug into his skin. Sheppard pried his eyes open, but all he saw was grizzled fur and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. The wolf's jaws snapped shut inches from his face, the sound vibrating his whole body.

Sheppard pushed his fingers through the wolf's fur around its thick neck and then grabbed on, yanking back as hard as he could. He had to keep those jaws as far from his face as possible, at least until he could figure out how to either make it leave him alone, or kill it. He really didn't want to kill it, but right then it was wolf against Sheppard, and he really wanted to live.

The wolf growled as he yanked on its fur, and then sank its fangs into Sheppard's shoulder in retaliation. Sheppard cried out in pain as he felt his flesh tear open, and blood began flowing freely down his chest and back. Already weakened from his previous injury, Sheppard scrabbled for a better hold on the animal, but his fingers were having a hard time finding purchase, and his vision was just beginning to darken around the edges.

"No!" he shouted, either to himself or the wolf, it didn't matter. He would not just lay down and die here. Rodney would come back and see him here, half-eaten...no, he couldn't let Rodney go through that. It would scar him indefinitely.

Just as he had found the wolf's windpipe and began to pinch it shut with his fingertips, it gave a sudden yelp and released his torn shoulder. Confused, Sheppard blinked and shook his head to clear his vision, in time to see the wolf's coat ripple and then turn red.

"Get away from him!" Rodney's voice yelled over the sound of a gun firing. Even as woozy as he was, Sheppard counted the shots. Thirteen.

The creature stumbled away from Sheppard and turned to face Rodney, still growling though it sounded more liquid than before. Sheppard's blood dripped from its snarling jaws, pooling with its saliva and forming a large puddle on the ground below. As Sheppard clamped his hand over his ragged shoulder, the wolf took two more staggered steps toward the scientist, who reflexively shut his eyes and emptied the remaining two shots into its face. The wolf pitched over onto its side at once, heaving out its last breath as Rodney tucked his Beretta into his vest and ran over to Sheppard.

"Oh, my God," he breathed when he saw the torn flesh of his shoulder, the dark blood oozing through Sheppard's fingers.

Sheppard tried to grin at his friend. "I'm okay, Rodney."

"Like hell you are!" McKay replied as his hands desperately searched his pockets. "I knew I shouldn't have left you alone."

More bandages appeared and were pressed to his wound, and he bit down on his lip to keep from cursing at the pain. Once more, blackness crept into his sight, but this time no matter how hard he fought it, it only grew darker.

Right before he lost consciousness, he was aware of the sound of a Jumper landing, then a flurry of voices, and the last thing he felt was the soft pressure of McKay's hands as they carefully peeled the shredded remains of his shirt away from his wound.

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><p><strong><em>TBC...Next Chapter is Keller...naturally...<em>**


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: This one's short, I know, but I decided that since Sheppard hates the infirmary so much, I'd keep the scene in there pretty short, for his sake. LOL_

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><p><strong><em>Careful Hands<em>**

**3**

**Keller**

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><p>The hands touching him were cold.<p>

Sheppard started awake at the sensation of fingers drifting along his collarbone, and he gave a quick shudder.

"Oh, colonel," a familiar female voice said then, "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Sheppard grinned and slowly shook his head, his eyes still closed. "Tickled."

"Oh," Dr. Jennifer Keller chuckled self-consciously. Those same cold fingers gently brushed across his forehead, getting a preliminary – and old-fashioned – reading on his temperature.

"How are you feeling?" She asked after a moment.

He tried to shrug, but searing pain ran through his right shoulder, taking his breath away for a moment. "Shoulder hurts," he finally managed.

Now, he chanced opening his eyes, and Keller's cheerful face smiled down at him.

"I bet it does. Needed quite a few stitches to sew up that mess."

"Yeah? How many, exactly?"

"Couple over sixty."

She waited a moment as he absorbed this information, then asked, "Any other pains? Headaches?"

He concentrated on the rest of his body for a moment and shook his head. "Nope."

Keller sighed. "Good. I've got you on an antibiotic drip, and once all your fluids are back up to normal I'll switch you over to pills."

"I take it I'm here for a while, then?"

"Two, maybe three days. Sorry, but I have to make sure there are no nasties swimming through your blood. Like rabies, for one."

"Yeah, I really wouldn't want that."

"Me neither. And we wouldn't want you turning into a werewolf, either." He gave her a strange look, and she giggled. "I heard what happened to you with the Iratus DNA. You never know if it could happen again, but with a different creature."

Sheppard made a disgusted face, but gave no comment. He hated those bugs, and everyone in both galaxies knew it. And that was just fine with him. He didn't care if everyone in the universe knew how much he despised them.

"It's a good thing Rodney was there with you, I suppose," she prodded as she peeled his bandage back and checked on the sutures.

At this, he nodded. "Yeah. I guess so." The immature side of him wanted to point out that Rodney hadn't really been there the whole time, but he made it stay quiet. That information wasn't helpful, and it didn't matter, anyway. What did matter was that his friend came through just in time, and saved his life.

Again.

"That wolf-thing is huge. Lorne says it's at least seven feet tall, all stretched out."

"Certainly felt that big when its teeth were in my shoulder," Sheppard replied, wincing at the memory more than the current pain he felt as her fingers probed his wound. Good thing Keller had given him morphine; he could feel its fuzzying effects at the corners of his mind, making deeper thought harder, but not impossible.

"You gonna dissect it?" He asked then, and she nodded.

"Yeah. Rodney insisted on it. He actually seemed morbidly impressed by the thing."

Sheppard grinned. That sounded like Rodney, all right. Then, his eyebrows furrowed, and he asked, "Where is Rodney, anyway? Is he okay?"

Keller grinned. He was always so worried about the rest of his team, even when he was injured. _Maybe especially then_, she thought. "He's fine," she said, her fingertips smoothing the tape that held his IV back down on his hand. "He flew Teyla to the mainland."

"Alone?" He asked, now more worried. He tried to sit up, but his shoulder screamed with each move. He only managed to push himself up halfway, his only support his left elbow pressing into the thin mattress beneath him.

"Hey, calm down," Keller soothed, her hands gently pushing him back onto his pillow. "Major Lorne went with them. They only went to speak with the elders of the village. Rodney tried to find out more about the creature that attacked you from the Ancient database, but there was nothing on them. Teyla mentioned that she had heard tales about them, so they went to see what they could learn."

Upon hearing this, Sheppard relaxed a little. Lorne was with them, and he would be sure to watch out for Sheppard's team as if they were his own.

She stood there for another moment, as if she wanted to say something else on the subject, but then she simply smiled again and said, "You should go back to sleep. Ronon's training Marines again, so before long this place'll be a madhouse."

Sheppard grinned back. "Sounds good to me." Then, before she could turn away, he said, "Thanks, Doc. Again."

Her hand reached down and squeezed his. "And you're welcome, for the thousandth time."

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><p><em>N<strong>ext Chapter...Ronon!<strong>_


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: another short one, but really, when does Ronon ever need a lot of explaining? He's a pretty simple guy, kinda like Shep. LOL anyway, enjoy!_

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><p><strong><em>Careful Hands<em>**

**4**

**Ronon**

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><p>It had been weeks since the wolf attack, but now Sheppard stood facing a being of equal ferocity and intensity. They circled one another silently, watching carefully, their eyes locked on one another's face. Sheppard counted each breath slowly, feeling the weight of the weapons in his hands as if for the first time. Suddenly, he rushed forward to meet his foe, who spun cleanly to the side and then swung out at Sheppard. The force of the hit knocked him off-balance, and he fell to one knee. Before he could fully recover there was another blow, this one across his left shoulder, and suddenly he was on his back and staring up at the ceiling.<p>

Ronon Dex stood over him, his hand outstretched and a grin on his face.

"You okay?" The Satedan asked.

Sheppard groaned in reply, though he did take Ronon's hand and let him drag him to his feet.

"You always gotta hit so hard?" Sheppard whined as he brushed himself off. He was grateful for the mats, as they absorbed most of the impact, but he still got knocked around a lot more than he liked to admit.

"I'm goin' easy on you, Sheppard," Ronon replied. "Can't help it if you're a baby."

"I'm not a baby," Sheppard frowned before taking a gulp of water from the bottle he'd brought with him. "It's just that you're bigger than me, and it really hurts when you smack me in the back with these things." He swung the bantos rods in his hands for emphasis.

Ronon shrugged. "That's the point. It's supposed to hurt so that you learn to not get hit with them next time."

"Well..." Sheppard trailed off, realizing that Ronon had him there. "Still. It sucks."

"That mean you're quitting?"

He tossed his water bottle back onto a chair and shook his head. "Not a chance."

His friend grinned. "Hoped not."

They sparred together for a long while, Sheppard eventually getting the rhythm of their hits and managing to evade nearly every attack Ronon threw at him. He watched their sticks bang together, the noise echoing off the rafters as they ducked and spun around only to rush forward to meet again. Theirs was a careful dance, learned in spare moments and days off over the past five years, each one studying the other for their weaknesses not to hurt them, but to help them improve. Ronon had to admit that Sheppard was slowly getting better; his hits were harder and more confident, and he was usually able to duck out of the way of Ronon's sticks before they came into contact with flesh.

Usually, anyway.

"Sheppard, you okay?" He asked again, looking down at the man on the ground at his feet.

A particularly hard hit had caught Sheppard in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs, and he'd fallen to the mat, gasping. Stars exploded behind his eyes, threatening him with unconsciousness, but they dissipated as he slowly regained his breath. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah, but I think I've had enough for today."

In these past five years, Ronon had knocked him down a lot. But each time, whenever he looked up he would see a hand out in front of him, waiting for him to reach up to take it. This time was no different.

Sheppard opened his eyes and saw Ronon's calloused hand there as usual. He could see a small white scar running across the larger man's thumb, and wondered idly how, and when, he'd gotten it. He thought about asking him, but then decided not to. Some scars didn't come with stories, and he figured that it was probably the case with this one as well. Reaching up, he took Ronon's hand and waited to be hoisted up onto his feet yet again.

"You wanna go see Keller?"

Sheppard grinned wryly. "Nah. She'll just lecture us on being careful and stick a Band-aid on me somewhere. She's got enough work to do today anyway, with the Daedalus' crew rotation."

Ronon shrugged, as if the explanation was good enough for him. "So now what?"

"Shower, then Mess Hall?" Sheppard suggested.

"Sounds like a plan."

"Meet you in twenty."

Ronon nodded. "Kay."

Once again, Sheppard felt Ronon's hand on him, though it was in a much less gentle fashion this time. With a grin, Ronon said, "See ya," and then slapped Sheppard heartily on the back before walking away.

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><p><em><strong>Next Chapter...is a surprise! lol<strong>_


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: LOL First off, to **sherry57**, I'm sorry I'm crankin' these out so fast! It's just so easy with some chapters. Like this one...I know you'll figure out who the "she" is in this chapter, but I still don't wanna ruin the surprise by putting her name at the top! Also might be one of the saddest chapters I've written, ever. Just a warning!_

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><p><em>Careful Hands<em>

5

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><p>"Honestly, John, I wish you would be more careful."<p>

Looking up at her through his tears, he nodded. "I'm sorry. I was trying to be, but I hit a rock."

A sigh, then only their breathing as a bandage was carefully taped in place over his scraped knee. A kiss was pressed on top of it, and then she smiled at him. "Would you like some lunch?"

"Yeah!" he cried, instantly forgetting his wounds.

He liked these times. Well, not the getting-hurt part, but the part after that. The time he would be allowed to sit on the counter top and watch as she made him a turkey sandwich, cutting it into four little triangles. Dave was sleeping in his crib, as usual, so that meant that John got her all to himself for at least an hour.

John sighed happily. A whole hour without Dave's crying, without their dad's shouting. Just she and John alone, sitting in the sunny kitchen on a summer day, the windows open and the curtains billowing gently in the warm breeze. He swung his legs, one of them sporting a Fantastic Four Band-Aid, off the end of the counter as he watched her hands. First, she made his sandwich, deftly tucking both slices of turkey into the bread so that none of it was visible past the crust, just the way he liked it. Then, she reached into a cupboard and pulled out a plate of cookies, then plucked two of these up and set them on the plate beside his sandwich. Once the plate had been safely hidden again, she drifted over to the refrigerator and retrieved the milk, pouring him a 5-year-old sized glass.

When she was within reach again, John wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek, and she chuckled deep in her throat.

"I love you, too, John," she told him, then nudged his plate toward him. "Now, eat your lunch before your brother wakes up."

He happily dug into his lunch, taking a bite and then offering one to her, which she took with a smile. He saved the cookies for last, always. They were soft and chewy, and so full of chocolate chips that his whole face would be smeared dark brown by the time he was done. Maybe if he'd known that this was their last lunch together, he would have given her one instead of shoving them both into his mouth and begging through the crumbs to go back outside.

Such as it was, however, he did shove them both in his mouth. And then he jumped down from the counter and stared up at her, his hazel eyes giving his best pleading look.

"Cnm Imf gmpf mpfsi?" he asked, and though she tried to be stern, he could see a smile twitch her lips.

"John, chew your food, please," she instructed him, and he quickly chewed what was left of his cookies, then swallowed before trying again.

"Can I go outside?"

Nodding, she replied. "For a while. But don't go too far."

"Will you come with me?" He begged, tugging on her hand.

"I'm sorry," she replied with a shake of her head. "I can't."

"But why?"

"I can't leave your brother inside alone. And besides, I have a headache."

Perhaps if he'd known what would happen later that week, he would have merely stayed inside with her. He had tons of coloring books just waiting for him, and a box full of football cards he could look through. But he was young, and had no concept of time past an hour or so, much less of the future. Screwing his face up, he dropped her hand and shouted, "Dave's a dumb baby! And you always have a headache!" Then, he slammed through the screen door and ran into the yard. As he climbed up into his treehouse, tears streamed down his face and stung his eyes, but he angrily wiped them away.

No one cared about him! Here he was, bleeding from falling off his bike – for the fifth time, no less – and no one cared. He wished that Dave had never been born. That dumb brother of his was always taking up everyone's time, making them laugh with his stupid faces and noises. Things had been just fine without him, when it had been just John. Dad had still yelled a lot, but at least whenever he was done, there was someone there to comfort John, to calm his crying. Not now, though. Now, she was always either holding dumb Dave, or laying down 'cause she felt sick.

John curled up in a corner of his hiding place, his head pillowed on his folded hands. His breath hitched in his chest, and he thought he might cry again, but he swallowed and the feeling went away. His father was always telling him that he cried too much, anyway. _Well, fine,_ John thought. _See if I ever cry again. I'll be the toughest man ever, and never let anyone see my feelings. And everyone will think I'm the coolest in the world, and I'll never be alone again._

He hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep until he felt careful hands lifting him off the floor and carrying him down the treehouse ladder. He didn't need to look to know whose they were. He could smell her perfume, could feel the soft curls of her golden hair against his cheek. All the way upstairs to his bed she carried him, and he stayed perfectly limp in her arms, pretending to still be asleep. When he was safely tucked into his covers, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and moved to stand up, but John grabbed her hand.

"Go to sleep," she said softly, and he nodded.

"I wanna say sorry, first."

She sat there beside him, his hands clasped inside hers, waiting.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I love you."

A gentle, loving smile lit up her face, and she bent down and lightly pressed her forehead against his, her blue eyes peering deep into his.

"I love you, too."

Just before she left his room for the last time, she stroked the side of his face with her soft hand and said, "Goodnight, John."

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><p><em>Gaaahhh! Don't you just wanna hug him tight and never let go? I know I do!<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Okay, so, in writing this fun little assortment of stories, I've made a discovery. Teyla touches John a LOT! LOL No, really, she does, but each time it is different. So here's what I'm gonna do...I'm gonna write a Teyla chapter, then a few in-betweens, then another Teyla, until we have 3 (or maybe 4) Teyla chapters, with breaks in the middle. Sounds fun, right?_

_Hope you enjoy this as much as I have been!_

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><p><strong><em>Careful Hands<em>**

**6**

**Teyla**

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><p>He woke up crying.<p>

He knew he had been, because he could feel someone wiping tears away from his face, and his chest felt tight and hot.

"Shh," someone whispered in the darkness, their breath stirring the hair at his forehead, "it is all right."

Teyla, then. Her lack of contraction-use was unmistakable, even in whispers. But the main question on his mind was this – what was she doing in his room, in the middle of the night?

As if she had read his thoughts, she leaned over from her seat beside the bed and said, "You asked me to keep watch over you, in case you had in fact contracted something from the swamp planet."

Sheppard nodded then. He recalled their conversation, as well as the poorly-hidden enthusiasm in her eyes as she accepted his request. Truthfully, he hadn't minded that she'd said yes, either. Not even a little.

He tried to hide a sniffle, but she was too perceptive for that. Sliding out of her chair to join him on the bed, she asked, "What is wrong?"

Sheppard shoved over a little to make more room for her, the tightness in his throat preventing him from speaking right away. Teyla's hand drifted lazily up and down his arm, creating goose bumps on his skin, but he did not wish her to stop. Her fingers were warm and comforting.

"Nothing," he tried at first, looking away from her. This was uncomfortable territory for him, this discussing of his past, of his feelings. But she had heard such pain in the hitching sobs as he slept, that she could not let it pass without another word as she usually did.

Teyla shook her head. "John," she said softly, and it was all he could bear. Heaving in a breath, he told her about the dream he'd had about his mother, a memory from when he had only just turned five years old. By the time he had finished, his head was cradled in Teyla's lap, her fingers weaving through his dark hair, his silent tears soaking through her soft linen pajamas.

"I did not realize you were so young," she finally said, glancing down at the side of his face. "You must miss her terribly."

Sheppard nodded. "I never even got to say goodbye. One day she was there, kissing my scraped knee, and the next, she was gone."

"What happened to her?"

"Aneurism, in her brain. It's why she kept getting migraines. And I..." he scoffed, a quiet noise in his throat as he pushed himself up. "I got mad at her for being sick all the time."

"John, you were only a child. You could not have been expected to understand..."

"But I understand now, and it makes me sick to think of how I treated her that day. And even after all that, she still came up to get me and put me to bed."

"Because she loved you," Teyla said knowingly, her hand resting lightly on his knee. "Mothers are truly special women, in that they know their children will say hurtful things, and yet they still give birth to them."

"If I had known..." he began, but she silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips.

"And she knows that. She knew it before you even said it, John."

He nodded, mourning the loss of her touch when she removed her finger. Instead, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and drew him toward her, pressing her forehead to his, and the familiar tight feeling returned to his chest.

"I miss her, Teyla," he choked, barely able to speak her name. Teyla moved to hug him closer, her head on his shoulder and both arms tucked around his back.

"I know. I am very sorry, John."

He let her hold him that way for quite a while, their breathing the only sound in the room, the darkness now not suffocating but comforting, like a warm blanket. He could feel her hands lightly caressing his back, her nails catching every now and then on his t-shirt, as if through her fingers she could impart every comforting word and emotion ever known.

Soon, he heard her stifle a yawn, and he pulled back, running his hand through his hair. Had circumstances been different - if they were only friends rather than colleagues with regulations to follow - he might have asked her to stay with him. As it was, however, he said, "You should go get some sleep."

"Are you sure you will be all right?" She asked.

He uttered a soft chuckle. "I'm sure."

"Very well," she finally agreed, though she continued to watch him as if she were waiting for him to change his mind. When she realized that he would not, Teyla stood up, her hand sliding along his shoulder as she moved until her palm rested against his jaw.

So slowly it felt as if he were already dreaming, Teyla leaned forward and brushed her lips against his stubbled cheek, then turned and left his room.

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><p><em><strong>Next Chapter to follow...<strong>_


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: So, this chapter kinda weaseled its way in to the series, as I like to explore different sides of an aspect - like a person's (or Wraith's) hands. So I found it only natural to put in a little scene about "Todd". Enjoy the Whumpage!_

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><p><em><strong>Careful Hands<strong>_

**7**

**Tag to "Common Ground"**

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><p>His chest hurt like it was on fire, but the rest of him was freezing cold.<p>

Sheppard lay on the floor of his cell, curled up on himself as tightly as he could without aggravating the wound over his heart. His breath felt ragged, and each time he exhaled he could see a cloud puff out of his mouth and drift upward toward the ceiling, where it would slowly disappear. It seemed as though he had been here for a long time, but as he had not yet seen the sun set through the tiny window at the end of the prison, he guessed that it had been just over ten or twelve hours.

"Sheppard," a frighteningly raspy voice called softly from the cell beside his. Tired and hurting, he purposely kept from replying, until the voice called a third time.

Now, Sheppard pushed himself up until he was sitting against the wall. "What is it?" He asked at last.

"Are you in much pain?"

Sheppard managed a chuckle, though it caused a ripple of intense pain to run up his torso as he did so. "Lots of it, thanks to you."

"As I explained before, I am being tortured just as you are."

Sheppard wanted badly to be able to dispute that, but it was true. "Yeah, I know," he replied softly.

There was a shuffle near the window between their two cells, and then the fingers of a Wraith hand curled around the bars. He looked hard at that hand, wondering how many humans its owner had fed upon, how many times it had been slapped onto a person's chest, and he felt anger rising to replace the raw ache of his wound. He knew for a fact that the Wraith opposite him had fed twice in just the last few hours. He had the bloodstained shirt and tattered coat to prove it, not to mention the bleeding split in his chest.

"I do not wish to kill you, Sheppard," the Wraith said then, its voice echoing off the stone walls of their prison.

Sheppard chuckled again. "I don't want you to, either."

After a few moments of silence, the Wraith guessed that he no longer wished to talk and retreated into the dark corners of its cell. Sheppard stayed where he was, his hand hovering over his chest as he debated on whether he should try to touch it or not. He remembered every horrifying moment of being fed upon – the initial shock as the Wraith's feeding organ split his skin open was bad enough, but after that came the loss of breath as his very life was sucked from his body. Finally, just when he felt as if his lungs would burst, the hand had released him, leaving him gasping and choking as the air returned to his lungs and his blood began to circulate once more. It was the most taxing ordeal he had ever gone through, and the worst part was, it was due to happen again in a little over an hour.

On top of all this, he knew that Elizabeth and the rest of his team had witnessed his torture, and that thought bothered him more than the actual feeding itself. He had heard the sheer terror in her voice at feeling so helpless to save him even as she followed Sheppard's own order not to intervene. He had wished for the camera to suddenly break, if only to spare his friends from seeing him that way, but it had kept right on rolling, capturing every painful moment. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, which he had bitten in an attempt to keep from crying out as the Wraith fed on him, only a slight tang of coppery taste now left behind, and Ronon's angry face floated into his mind. For a moment, Sheppard had considered that he might die here, but the more he thought about his Satedan friend, the more he dared to hope for rescue, or at least for a way out. Ronon would rather go out fighting than let a Wraith drain his life away, and so would Sheppard.

But then again, it wasn't all the Wraith's fault, was it? It was being held captive, just as Sheppard was, and was being tortured by only being allowed to feed a little at a time. Sheppard couldn't say he felt very sorry for the creature, as he'd watched more than one of his acquaintences being fed upon by Wraith and it was far from pretty; but he wasn't heartless, either. It wasn't right to let the Wraith just sit here and waste away, even if its food was human. They – the expedition, that was – didn't know enough about Wraith to be sure that people were their only food source, anyway. Perhaps they only preferred humans, but could be persuaded to seek out an alternative.

Less than hour later, Sheppard was again strapped into the chair, and the camera was turned on. He kept his gaze on the blinking red light, focusing on keeping his breathing even, his heart rate calm. He could hear the clinking of chains behind him, as well as the ragged breathing of the still-weak Wraith as the Genii dragged him into the room.

Kolya stood before the camera, once more asking his friends to trade him for Ladon Radim, and once more, the offer was refused. Inwardly, Sheppard both cheered and groaned. He was glad that Elizabeth was sticking to her guns, to his order not to negotiate with Kolya at any cost. But he was dreading the moment that was soon to come, when the Wraith would feed again.

Kolya turned to the Wraith, whose feeding hand was poised above Sheppard's chest, waiting, and said, "Take your fill."

Sheppard's eyes widened at that, but with a gag in his mouth he could do nothing but gaze up at the Wraith's face, then, as the creature's hand was once more slammed down on his chest, Sheppard tilted his head back and tried to scream, but no sound would come. His eyes squeezed shut, hot tears filling them and slipping silently down his temples, where his hair was turning from gray to silver to white all in a matter of moments. His body tensed like a spring as shockwaves of pain rolled through him, stealing his air, but he could not have caught his breath even if he tried. His chest felt so tight that he thought it might explode, tearing in half right where he sat, and his arms and shoulders burned with the effort of keeping himself upright, a man rather than a coward.

Suddenly, his blood was pounding hard in his ears, its rush to his brain causing him to grow extremely hot and dizzy. His vision swam, Kolya's face looking like a freakish circus-mirror reflection, thin and rubbery, and Sheppard would have laughed if he'd had the strength. Then, he caught one last look at the Wraith's bloodied feeding hand, and sank into unconsciousness.

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><p><em><strong>Next Chapter to follow...<strong>_


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Another short chapter, but that's the way it happened to work out. After this comes another Teyla chapter, so I'm sure that'll be longer. And more fun, too! LOL Anyway, enjoy!_

_Edit to add: Thanks to JoeyLuv for finding a small mistake at the end! Just a teensy one, since I was so excited that I forgot to read it over, but I've since fixed it. Heh...Atlantis can apparently make me a scatterbrain! :)_

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><p><em><strong>Careful Hands<strong>_

**8**

**Tag to "Sunday"**

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><p>Sheppard looked down at his left hand, curled around the casket's metal handle, his knuckles white. He still couldn't believe that he was here, doing this. Sunday was supposed to have been a day off, a time for them to relax and have fun. And he <em>had<em> been having fun. Sitting with Ronon, having a few drinks and listening to music, it was the most relaxed he'd felt in years. And that was why, close to two days later, it felt so wrong for him to be standing here listening to Teyla's quiet sniffles behind him, watching the active Stargate loom ever closer as he escorted his friend home for the last time.

He looked down again. His hand, the same that had held a P-90 as well as dozens of other weapons, was now clutching a coffin. The fingers that had gently ruffled Jinto's hair, that had wiped tears from Teyla's face, were now carrying death. Oh, he could try and fool himself into thinking he was bringing comfort, but he was smart enough to know that was a lie. There were too many questions, too much left unknown, to leave any of the man's family with a sense of closure.

This was his fault. He should have made Rodney override the lockout codes. Should have done _something, _anything other than what they did – stand and listen as their CMO, their friend – sacrificed himself for the lives of everyone in the city.

Sheppard looked over at Rodney and immediately wished that he hadn't. The physicist looked about ready to run and hide, or maybe scream. He was frowning, but not because he was angry; it was the face he made when he was trying hard not to cry, when he was acting "tough". Rodney had been Carson's best friend here in Atlantis. They had often sniped at each other, acting as if they were annoyed by one another, but everyone knew it was just they way they showed their friendship. They were comfortable making snide comments between themselves, just as Sheppard himself did with Rodney, or even Ronon. But now, there would be no friendly banter – at least not for a long while. These recent events had brought back to the expedition the realization that life was fragile and short, that anyone could go at any time.

The bagpiper was still playing up on the balcony alongside the Gate room, his sad notes echoing as the song was played over the city's intercom, as Sheppard and Rodney led the way through the wormhole. When they stepped through to the other side and set the casket down on the wheeled table at the SGC, Sheppard glanced up and saw General O'Neill standing there at the end of the ramp, a grim expression on his tanned face.

"I'm sorry," O'Neill said, and Sheppard nodded wordlessly. Rodney immediately left to collect himself for the awful job of giving Carson's eulogy and passing his belongings on to the Scot's mother, while the others who had borne the coffin now idly stood nearby, as if they were still guarding the body from harm.

As the gate shut down behind him, Sheppard took a moment to straighten the flag draped over the coffin, deftly unfolding a few wrinkles, his fingertips whispering over the silky material. His heart felt as if it weighed a ton, and he had to quickly shut his eyes and collect himself as one memory after another flooded his mind. That first meeting in Antarctica, when Sheppard's helicopter had nearly been destroyed by a drone that Carson had accidentally fired from the chair. The many times the blue-eyed healer had patched him up after a mission gone wrong, giving him a stern look right before softening into a smile and telling Sheppard how glad he was to see him safe and sound. And finally, the last time he had seen Carson before the explosion, out on Sheppard's homemade driving range, the doctor trying to convince him and Ronon to go fishing. It had been a vain endeavor, as Sheppard had neither the patience nor the skill to sit for hours as he tried to hook at least one fish. And Ronon, well, he had even less of both.

At last, Rodney came back and nodded at Sheppard, silently informing him that their journey was about to continue. Each pallbearer resumed their position, their hands grasping the cold metal handles on either side, and carried Carson's casket through Cheyenne Mountain up to a waiting hearse. The pain in Sheppard's heart only grew with each step, and the handle felt like a lead weight in his hand, dragging him down to the bottom of a deep, dark ocean.

Carson was really gone, he realized then.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

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><p><em><strong>Next chapter to follow...<strong>_


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: Sorry it took a while to get this one up, guys. This chapter decided to give me a little trouble, for some reason, which is weird because I love writing John/Teyla. Anyway, here it is...enjoy!_

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><p><em><strong>Careful Hands<strong>_

**9**

**Teyla**

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><p>Sitting on the East Pier was always interesting for Sheppard. It was the same view every time – the city behind him, the ocean below, and the mainland at the horizon – and yet depending on the season and time of day, the scenery could change dramatically. One moment the sea could be calm, the light blue waves lightly lapping against the pier's supports, and the next, black, swirling seawater would be surging toward them, sending its salty spray dozens of feet in the air and blocking the mainland from view.<p>

Right now, however, the sea was calm, the sky a pale blue overhead. Sheppard was seated on the edge of the Pier, his legs dangling over the steep drop to the water below. He was dressed in a light blue collar shirt and khakis – his go-to outfit for a day off, which was fairly rare these days. Breathing in the warm summer air around him, Sheppard sighed and leaned back on his hands, a satisfied smiled on his handsome face.

"I wish I had a surfboard," he said to the person sitting beside him. "Those waves look amazing."

Teyla Emmagen turned to look at him, a curious look arching her eyebrows. "They are beautiful, but the water is very cold, John. If you were to fall into it, you would freeze to death."

He smiled, refusing to let his enthusiasm be dampened by reality. "I know. But I still wanna surf."

Teyla's look brightened then, and she quickly got to her feet and then grabbed him under the arm, trying to pull him up.

"Come on. I have an idea," she informed him. Sheppard stood and began to follow her as she jogged toward the city.

"Where are we going?"

She stopped for a moment and gave him an impish grin. "You will see when we get there."

Sheppard could not keep his mind from wandering at the implications in her gaze. Shaking his head both to clear it and to show his confusion, he caught up with her at the doors to the city.

Less than an hour later, they were in a protected cove on the far side of the mainland, each floating on a surfboard of their own with the beach at their backs. The water here was warmer, nearly on the other side of the planet, and the waves were much gentler. Once they had landed the Jumper and set up their picnic area for later, Teyla had used the Jumper as a cabana, changing her outfit for a plum-colored 2-piece swimsuit, its halter-style tie knotted comfortably around her slender neck. Though the waves were calling their siren song to him, Sheppard was finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than Teyla's bronzed skin, on the way her chocolate eyes lit up each time she smiled. _Which was a lot, at least lately,_ Sheppard mused as he adjusted his black board shorts and then lay face down on his board. Teyla mimicked him perfectly, and when he used his strong arms to cut through the water, paddling further out in the ocean, she pursed her lips in concentration and followed him, only sparing a moment every now and then to wipe the salty spray out of her eyes.

When they were far enough out, Sheppard again sat up, his legs dangling over either side of the board. Teyla also sat up, water droplets glistening in the sun as she squeezed out her long hair. Sheppard pretended to be very interested in the water directly below him, even as his heart beat fluttered hard in his chest. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked perched there atop her board, the sun falling lightly across her face as she tilted her head back, her eyelashes resting gently on her cheeks...but every time he moved to open his mouth, a sense of panic descended onto him, and he remained frustratingly silent.

"Uh," he finally stammered as he watched her hands brush more water from her shoulders, one at a time, "so now, since this is your first time surfing, we'll wait for a wave to come to us, rather than swimming out to one."

"Very well," she replied, smiling.

He spent the better part of an hour teaching her the basics, until she complained that her stomach was empty.

"Okay," he finally agreed, then cast a longing glance behind him at the slightly larger waves that had just begun to roll in. Teyla noticed his look, and chuckled softly.

"What if I paddle in and get our lunch set up, while you stay out here and show me what surfing is supposed to look like?" She asked.

He supposed that he must have looked like a kid in the world's biggest candy store right then, but he didn't mind. Grinning widely, he nodded and replied, "That'd be great. Are you sure?"

She smiled in reply. "I am."

"Thanks, Teyla," he said gratefully, and she reached over to pat his shoulder before laying flat on her board once more.

"You are welcome."

As she turned and began paddling for shore, Teyla smiled to herself. So far, this had been a perfect, restful day for both of them, and it was far from over. She always enjoyed spending time with John, but the times he let his guard down – when his real self shone through – were the best. Suddenly, he wasn't afraid to say what was on his mind, and she found it a welcome change from his professional aloofness. Not that she didn't appreciate that side of him as well, because she did; it was just that she liked it when he was honest with himself and others.

Oh, who was she kidding? She liked every aspect of John Sheppard – his protective side, his rarely-shown gentleness, and sometimes, even his anger. Each was a part of him, and in the uncommon times when they all showed up together, he was unstoppable, and she let herself be swept along for the ride. His passion was contagious and often palpable, consuming everything and everyone in his path, and there were many times when she found herself wishing to reach out and touch what seemed his very soul. But he was also a very private man, and knowing this, Teyla held back her feelings as well.

Finally, she dropped onto the checkered blanket, her legs feeling like rubber. She laid out their meal – nothing that would easily attract or hold onto sand – and then turned to find Sheppard. There was only open ocean at first, and then as a wave passed she could see his dark head of hair bobbing gently up and down. Shading her eyes with her hand, she watched as he ducked beneath a wave, then rose to the surface just in front of another. The moment the wave touched the back of his board, he jumped to his feet, his arms held slightly out for balance. The wave grew taller, and Teyla held her breath as Sheppard skimmed across its surface, his hand dragging lightly through the turquoise water of the "tube". He looked so natural out there, as if he had been born for the water. There was an ease about him; this she had noticed on the very first night of their meeting, and even though he could often become stressed, he tried hard not to let it change him permanently, and never for the worse.

When he had at last emerged from his session in the sea, dripping wet from head to toe, he took the towel Teyla offered him and began to dry off. She watched as he rubbed the towel over his hair, then moved to blot at the rivulets that coursed down his torso only to be dispersed by the dark curls that covered his chest. His skin was already tanning nicely under the planet's hot sun, turning from the creamy white of his Celtic heritage to the bronzed hue of someone who spent much of their life outdoors, such as Teyla herself. _Ancestors, but he __did__ look amazing,_ she thought to herself.

"Hungry?" She managed to ask him when he had finished drying off.

Sheppard sat down beside her and surveyed the spread with his hazel eyes. Then, he lifted his gaze to her face, noticing that her nose was just beginning to take on a slight sunburn, and smiled roguishly.

"Ravenous," he replied, purposely sweeping her lithe form with his eyes.

Teyla blushed furiously then, feeling the heat grow in her cheeks as if she'd pressed irons against them. She turned away from him and reached for a platter, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. His grasp was light, little more than a grazing touch, but it had surprised her enough that she gasped and turned back to face him.

Sheppard's eyes were wide, as if he had surprised himself as well, and his breath seemed to come in great swells, reminding her instantly of the waves beyond. He ran his tongue along his top lip, meaning only to moisten it as he prepared to speak, but that gesture alone nearly set Teyla's heart racing.

"Is something wrong?" Teyla finally asked, and he shook his dark head.

"No. Well, maybe..." when her eyes opened wider, he quickly amended, "not with you, though! I just...um..." he sighed impatiently, then locked his gaze onto hers once more. "I've been an idiot."

Teyla did not hide her confusion. The past few months, Sheppard had been extremely nice to her, even more so than usual. They had had small disagreements, but nothing that had not been resolved almost instantly.

"You have?" She asked, her arched eyebrow reinforcing the question.

Sheppard nodded. "You are an amazing woman, Teyla. I'm very glad that we met and became friends."

"As am I," she replied slowly, still somewhat puzzled. He seemed to be building up his nerve to say something, so she fell silent and returned to watching his face very carefully.

"That's good." She was aware that his hand was still wrapped around her wrist, his fingers pressed ever so lightly against her skin. She could feel her pulse beating against his fingertips, and she forced herself to keep breathing, her nostrils pulling in as much air as they could handle. "But," he said then, and she flicked her eyes upward to meet his, worried, "I want us to be more than that."

Teyla wanted to let out the breath she was holding, but she suddenly felt very lightheaded. Her blood rushed through her ears so fast that she could barely hear what he had said, but the look she saw in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Just as she had regained most of her usual composure, his hands slid up into her hair and pulled her toward him. His warm breath caressed her face as he first rested his forehead against hers, then trailed the fingers of his right hand down her cheek, as if memorizing every inch of her soft skin. His eyes closed for a moment, and then fluttered open again as he whispered, "I...I love you."

"And I love you," she whispered back, never more sure than right then that she spoke the truth.

Sheppard uttered an audible sigh, having been nervous that she might reject him, and then carefully cupped her face in his hands as he pressed his lips against hers. They remained that way for a while, their mouths gently clinging together as they tasted the sea's salt on each other's lips, and when he finally pulled back enough to look in her eyes, he was glad to see that she was smiling.

"What's so funny?" He asked her then, and she playfully nudged him with her elbow before taking his hand in hers and laying them both on her knee.

"To use one of your phrases..." she replied, boldly leaning over to press a soft kiss against his cheek, "...It took you long enough."

Sheppard chuckled deep in his throat and tightened his grip, pulling her closer. "A mistake I fully intend on making up for."

As the sun set on the horizon, casting its purple and red glow over them, Teyla reached up and brushed her hand through the hair at his forehead. Smiling, she asked, "Starting now, I hope?"

Sheppard nodded, then pressed another simmering kiss against her mouth. "Definitely."

Night fell quickly, and all became quiet almost at once. The double moons rose overhead, and soon the only sounds to be heard were the insects singing, and then two distinct chuckles – one from a dark-haired man and the lighter one from a woman with deeply bronzed skin and chocolate eyes.

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><p><strong><em>Next Chapter? Should I? Why yes, I think I shall! Not sure who yet, but it'll be fun as always!<em>**


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: I know it's been forever since I updated this story, but this idea came to me and while it doesn't exactly fit the format, I couldn't leave it alone. This is an AU version of Torren's birth, a fun one unhindered by enemies trying to get their clutches on him and such. I think this kinda fits the idea of Careful Hands, in that both Rodney and Shep are using their hands in different ways, and...well, you'll see. Enjoy! BTW, the next chapter is the last. I have to move on to my other stories, if I ever want to finish them!_

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><p><strong><em>Careful Hands<em>**

10

Sheppard and Rodney

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><p>He was sleeping when her voice suddenly cried in his ear, begging for his help. Sheppard sprang awake at once, panic trying to force its way past the fog in his still-exhausted mind.<p>

"Teyla?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

"The baby..."

Those two words are all he needed to hear before he leaped out of bed, almost falling over the clothes he'd dumped onto the floor earlier that night.

"I'm coming. Just stay calm and hang on."

She managed to mutter something in reply as he pulled on his clothes, not caring that his shirt was on inside-out and the only two socks he could find in the near-dark were two different colors. As he pulled them on, he tapped at his earpiece again.

"I need a med team to Teyla's room," he barked.

Only moments later, he was letting himself into her room. Teyla sat up in her bed, clad in a soft nightgown, sweat beads already standing out on her forehead and chest.

A nervous pit settled into his stomach as he looked at her, and he carefully edged toward the bed. "Hey," he said. "You okay?" She nodded, though pain etched lines on her smooth face. "Keller's on her way."

"That is good. Thank you."

"When did it start?"

She tried a smile despite the contraction rocking her body. "My water broke over an hour ago. The contractions were so far apart, I thought I would rest for a while before going to the infirmary. I was awakened by intense pain in my back, and could not get out of bed." She stifled a shout, her eyes screwed shut. When it passed and she opened her eyes again, she gasped, "The contractions have grown very close. I fear that if Jennifer does not come soon..."

Now very nervous, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to notice the worry in her eyes. "She'll be here."

He hadn't even finished speaking when she suddenly cried out again, her hands moving to clutch at her swollen abdomen. Sheppard was both fascinated and disturbed to realize that he could see the outline of her child's body moving under her skin; as much as he would have liked to fully process that thought, the urgency of Teyla's cry sent him to her side.

"What can I do?" He asked.

She stuck out her hand, and he instinctively grasped it within his. She stared into his eyes, concentrating on keeping her breathing even. Knowing now was not the time to make a wisecrack, he allowed her to use him as her focus point, and as soon as the contraction had ended, Rodney McKay rushed into the room.

Not bothering to greet them, he explained, "I heard you call for Keller." Then, when he saw the angry look on Sheppard's face, he added, "She's trying to get here as quick as possible, but with the transporter problems..."

"A problem _you_ should be working on," Sheppard reminded him.

"I _have_ been working on it, for days. I needed a break."

Another cry emanated from the bed then, effectively shutting them both up. As soon as her breath returned enough to speak, Teyla said, "I do not think I can wait any longer."

Rodney's eyes grew to epic size, and he stuttered, "Oh, no no no no no! You have to give it a few more minutes."

"I can't," she rasped.

"But it's too fast! It usually takes hours..."

"Athosian births are sometimes very fast. I had not thought it would be quite so soon, however." Glancing up, she caught Sheppard's gaze. "Please, John."

Despite his misgivings, he nodded. She wouldn't have asked him if there was a chance of getting to the infirmary – and she knew full well that he could carry her the entire way if she needed him to. "We've gotta do this," he told his friend. "I'll pitch, you catch."

"What?! A baseball metaphor? Are you serious?"

"Relax, McKay," Sheppard said. "It'll be fine. It's just a baby."

"But...what if something goes wrong? I've never done this before!"

"You'll be fine. You're a doctor."

"Of astrophysics! This is so far out of my..."

"Please, Rodney!" Teyla cried then, her dark eyes full of desperation. "Please help me."

After only another moment, Rodney uttered a groan but then nodded. "I'll go grab some towels. This is gonna be messy."

"Hurry," Sheppard urged him.

As Rodney shot into the bathroom to find supplies, all of Sheppard's usual aloofness disappeared as he climbed up on the bed behind Teyla, his arms hooked under hers and his hands resting lightly on her stomach. When he was situated, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "It's gonna be okay."

She nodded, again clutching his hand for comfort. He gave it to her, his other hand gently stroking her belly. Teyla leaned her head back against his shoulder, her sweat-slicked forehead resting in the crook of his neck as Rodney returned.

"Okay, I know I panicked a little there," he said as he dumped his load onto the covers, "but we're gonna do this."

Rolling up his sleeves, he unfolded the towels and pushed them into place with his eyes only half-open and his face turned to the side. Sheppard suppressed a chuckle and instead began to knead the very top of Teyla's stomach with his fingertips.

She gazed down at his hands as they worked. His skin was rough, slightly chapped, and there were callouses on his palms, but whenever they slid across her skin their warmth radiated right through to her heart. These same hands had protected her people – the Athosians as well as the Lanteans – from anyone who threatened their safety. They could be so dangerous, either holding a weapon or on their own, and yet there they were, calming her. She found that she loved every inch of them, from his short fingernails to the scar on his right hand, the one that he had gotten in a fight with a Wraith; she wished that she had the time now to memorize each mark, each crease in his knuckles, but there were more pressing things that demanded her attention at this moment.

The contractions were fast now, one on top of the other. Her breath was coming in short bursts, interspersed by moans and cries as the baby came ever closer to being born.

"Oh, my God!" Rodney cried then. "I can see the head!"

"Good, Rodney," Sheppard replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. Currently, he was being Teyla's metronome, his breathing against her back helping her keep pace so she didn't hyperventilate. To Teyla, he said, "You're doin' good. Keep breathing."

"I am trying," she ground out between clenched teeth, "the pain is very great."

He nodded, her long hair catching against his rough unshaven face. "I know. But you're strong."

As if to counter his point, her stomach muscles suddenly tightened, and she arched her back away from him, letting out a scream that nearly deafened him. He might not have been witness to many births, but he understood pain more intimately than most. His hand flew to her back, his splayed fingers putting firm but gentle pressure at the bottom of her spine. Rodney caught his eye then, the physicist's blue irises large with concern. Sheppard tried to reassure him with his own expression, but that was easier said than done while his own insides were in turmoil. He had feared this day – when he would be pushed into helping deliver a baby – and had done everything possible to avoid it. The universe, it seemed, had decided that he needed to do it anyway. At least he was helping someone he knew well, as opposed to a complete stranger.

As it was, he gave the other man a single nod, then went back to comforting Teyla.

"Almost there," he murmured. "Stay calm."

Though she nodded, she admitted, "I'm scared, John. The pain is more than I had ever imagined."

Again, he looked at Rodney, who now wore a grim expression of determination.

"I know," Sheppard told her. "Just...rest against me. I've got you."

She obeyed him, her upper half leaning back once more. His hand moved from her spine to her stomach, always moving, drifting along her skin in soothing patterns. When Rodney softly instructed her to push, Sheppard took hold of her legs, his hands behind her knees, and counted aloud for her. After three repeats of these steps, barely any progress had been made, and she buried her face into his neck.

"I cannot do this any more!" she wailed, clearly exhausted.

"Yes, you can," both men replied simultaneously.

"How's it goin' down there?" Sheppard asked Rodney.

"The head's almost out," he informed them. "I think one more should do it. Once the shoulders are out, the rest will be a piece of cake."

"Hear that?" Sheppard asked Teyla. "Just a few more."

"I can't," she repeated.

Sheppard squeezed her hand gently. "Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

"Good. Then listen to me now. I'm here, and I'm gonna help you do this."

"Hey," Rodney groused, "I'm here, too."

"I know you're tired and it hurts," Sheppard went on as if he hadn't heard him, "but you can do this."

There was no time for her to dispute him. An intense contraction rippled through her then, and she gripped his hands so tightly that he feared she would break his fingers. Working quickly, he guided her hands to her stomach, then wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he dared.

"Feel my breath," he said, "and push as hard as you can."

Bearing down hard, Teyla closed her eyes and concentrated on Sheppard's voice as he counted to ten. She could vaguely hear Rodney's voice encouraging her, felt the backs of his hands brushing the inside of her thighs, and then Sheppard said "Ten," and she relaxed again.

"You did it!" Rodney cried. "The head is out."

Sheppard carefully wiped Teyla's bangs off her forehead. "Almost there. Just give me a few more."

She nodded, then looked down at Rodney. "You will catch him?"

"Of course."

Sheppard got up on his knees behind Teyla, his arms still under her shoulders for support. At his instruction, she reached up and locked her arms around his neck, her hands clasped together behind his head. Looking up into his face, she stared into his hazel eyes, and he smiled down at her.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yes. Are you?"

He nodded, and she dropped her chin onto her chest, her eyes closed. As the next contraction rode over her, Sheppard started counting again. He could feel her grip tighten, trying to pull his head down toward her, but he counterbalanced by pulling himself upward and back. It made it a little hard to breathe, but it gave her something to hang onto.

From his spot at the end of the bed, Rodney continued to talk to her. "That's it...keep it up..." Before Sheppard could get to ten, Rodney said, "Don't stop now – you're almost there. Just a few more seconds..."

Though the strain was quickly growing unbearable, she gasped in another breath and kept going. Sensing her need for comfort, Sheppard pressed his cheek against the side of her head, murmuring softly in her ear. Just as she was about to give up, she felt the pressure suddenly ease from within. Rodney gave a kind of surprised shout and then said, "I've got him! I caught him!"

Both Teyla and Sheppard looked down. Indeed, Rodney was holding a baby boy in his arms, and after a moment a wail erupted from the infant. Teyla was so relieved the ordeal was over that she laughed, her head dropping back against Sheppard's shoulder as tears of joy filled her eyes and then spilled over. Sheppard himself simply stared at the baby, his heart so full that he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Even before this tiny being had been born, Sheppard had vowed to protect him, and now he was here, actually alive and right in front of him. The feeling in his chest was one he had never experienced before, overwhelming and yet somehow organic, as if it had had always been within him and was only now awakening.

"You did it," he finally whispered, pressing a most uncharacteristic kiss against her cheek.

Wrapping the child up in one of the large bath towels he had grabbed earlier, Rodney held him out to Teyla. "Teyla," he said, his voice soft with wonder, "I'd like to introduce you to your son."

With tears still tracking down her face, she held out her arms and took the baby from him. She drew him close to her chest, gently rocking to quiet him, and when his cries stopped she looked up at Sheppard. Gratitude, as well as a dozen other emotions, showed clear in her eyes as she said, "Thank you." Then, she glanced down at Rodney and added, "Both of you."

"You're welcome," they murmured in unison.

The door slid open then and Keller rushed headlong into the room, only to skid to a stop at the foot of the bed. Taking in the sight before her, she nearly pinched herself to see if she were dreaming. Rodney was standing nearby, his hands bloody and sweat coating his forehead. He also had a streak of blood on his face, and more on his t-shirt, but despite the mess he was grinning from ear to ear. Colonel Sheppard was kneeling on the bed, letting himself be used as a pillow of sorts. He looked tired, but also just as happy as Rodney. And happiest of all was Teyla, who was leaning against the colonel with a squirming bundle in her arms. She looked positively exhausted, but something told Keller that she would not have traded a moment's sleep for what had happened in this room.

"Teyla had the baby!" she heard Rodney exclaim. "We tried to wait for you, but he was coming so fast there was no time. It was incredible."

At this, Sheppard nodded, still smiling. "She did great," he put in.

Rodney nodded. "She did. And I caught him! I didn't drop him or anything! He just slipped out and I caught him. Isn't that amazing?!"

"Yes," Keller finally replied, recovering from her shock. "That's great." As she moved toward the bed, she asked, "How are you feeling, Teyla?"

"Much better, now that my son is here."

"Any lingering pain? Headache, nausea?"

Teyla shook her head. "I am just very tired. It was all quite exhausting."

Fairly certain her patient was in good shape, Keller smiled at that. "I'm sure it was, especially with these two 'helping'."

"John and Rodney were actually very helpful," Teyla told her. "They encouraged me greatly. I was glad to have them here with me."

Keller was again stunned into silence. She could not imagine the two men being anything but a distraction in a situation like this, but she also knew that Teyla always tried to speak the truth. If she said they helped, then they must have helped.

"Well," she said, smiling, "as much as I would love you to stay here and just rest, we should really make sure that everything is okay with you and baby."

"Of course, Jennifer," Teyla assented. Handing the baby to Rodney, she looked up and silently asked Sheppard for his help once more. He grinned and nodded in reply, then scooted off the bed. He waited patiently as Teyla slowly crawled to the side of the mattress and swung her legs over, and then he wrapped his arm around her back and under her shoulder, walking her carefully to the wheelchair someone had parked just inside the door.

As he settled her into the chair, Rodney came forward and again placed the baby into her arms. He was about to step back when she reached up and gently touched his face. "You did a wonderful job. Thank you."

"I'm just glad you're both okay," he replied, his cheeks burning red at the gesture.

As Keller took the handles of the wheelchair and began to lead the procession toward the infirmary, Sheppard said, "I'll come down to check on you in a while."

Teyla smiled and nodded. "That would be lovely, John. Thank you."

When she had gone, Sheppard turned to Rodney and said, "We should clean this up."

His friend groaned pitifully, but then looked down at his hands for the first time. Seeing their horrible state, he muttered, "Yeah. You find the cleaning supplies and I'll find something to incinerate all this with."

Sheppard grinned, then waved his hand over the door controls.

This was gonna take a while.


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: Okay, so as a conclusion to this story, I've decided to show how careful JOHN'S hands can be! *sigh* Why's he gotta be so amazing? Anyway, you can take this as a tag to "Search and Rescue", or as an AU version. I'm going with AU, just because this is actually a part of the last chapter I wrote. It's been fun, and I hope you have enjoyed this!_

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><p><em><strong>Careful Hands<strong>_

11

Sheppard

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><p>Sheppard stepped into the darkened infirmary, keeping his footsteps quiet as he crossed the marble floors. Teyla's bed was on the right-hand side, the Athosian blanket draped over her clearly giving it away amidst the row of bleach-white sheets. When he reached her, he saw that she was sleeping, so he took a moment to check her over, to be sure she was truly undamaged from her ordeal. Satisfied, he turned to leave but was stopped by a soft, wailing cry. He followed the sound around to the other side of the bed, where a baby bassinet sat, and was surprised to see the darkest pair of eyes staring back up at him.<p>

"Hey, buddy," Sheppard whispered to the baby, "what's wrong?"

As if in reply, the baby screwed his eyes shut, stuck out his bottom lip, and unleashed an even louder cry. Sheppard's eyes flew to Teyla's face. She was beginning to stir. Thinking quickly, he crouched down and carefully scooped the baby up in his arms. Laying him against his shoulder, Sheppard rubbed the baby's back and gently bounced him up and down,

"It's okay," he said, keeping his voice low, "Uncle John's here."

The bouncing motion seemed to make the little boy cry even louder. Fearing that the baby's exhausted mother would be awakened by the noise, Sheppard did the only thing he could think of.

He started humming.

Any song he could remember was pressed into service, the vibration in his chest transferring to the baby. It seemed to work almost immediately. The tiny flailing arms stopped pummeling him, and soon the wails turned first to whimpers, which then gave way to light snoring sounds.

Standing in the shadows, Jennifer Keller watched as the battle-hardened colonel danced around the infirmary with Teyla's baby in his arms. He had started out humming but he was now singing, his voice little more than a raspy murmur as he soothed the infant. Tears sprung unbidden to the doctor's eyes, clouding her sight before her. It was strange to see Sheppard – someone who could be completely intimidating in the heat of conflict – being so gentle, but he was handling it as naturally as he did flying.

When he was sure the child had dropped off to sleep, Sheppard moved over to the bassinet and eased the baby back inside. With a soft smile on his lips, he tucked the warm blanket around the boy's tiny body.

"Good night," he whispered.

Sheppard's hand carefully smoothed back a curl on the baby's forehead, and then he silently stood up and left the infirmary. Jennifer stood where she was, her tears hot on her cheeks, unable to move for fear that her heart would shatter and knowing that for as long as she lived, she would never be able to forget what she had just seen.

The END


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